A loneliness business, and yet...

"Rage, rage against the birthing of this darkness of gaslit words..." I stop mid-sentence. The words harden on the screen. I let them sit while the night presses closer.

midnight moon

in snow-shrouded silence

the sound of keystrokes

I hit delete and take a deep breath. I remind myself that belief—not certainty, but something felt rather than known—starts a poem. I lean into the weight of this thought and push return.

paperwhite dawn

a robin's song in and out

of my writer's block

Contemporary Haibun Online 22:1, April 2026

Between Heaven and Earth

I'm soul-tired

before this wooden Jesus ...

Time is frozen

in St. Peter's Church

with frost flowers on the windows

What is Time?

alone and calm

before a leafy riot

of garden plants ...

my old friend and Time

are of the same race

If no one asks me, I know; if I need to explain it to one who asks, I don't know.

a mile-long lineup

of trucks at the checkpoint

in smoky sunset

inch by inch Time crawls through

the Kerem Shalom Crossing

What then is Time? In the present, the past presses forward; the future leans back toward me. I stand between them—no nearer to an answer than frost on glass.

Contemporary Haibun Online 22:1, April 2026

The Passion

the glow of fireballs

in a dead baby's eyes

the stone cross tilted

Silhouetted against the half collapsed and blood-splattered wall, the parish priest of Holy Family Church looks into the cellphone camera, and says in a firm voice, "nuns and I will stay and take care of elderly and wounded people, pregnant women and children."

"Are you not afraid of dying during the next Israeli strike?"

"Jesus is weak and vulnerable among people who need help and comfort, and that is exactly the way, the only way,  in which Jesus can be with us and help us."

Contemporary Haibun Online, 21:3, 2025

Glimpses of Light

flashfloodweareallinthis t o ge  t   h   e r   

Rain and snowfall across Southern California has tamed, at least for the time being, the threat of major wildfires in the region; however, ash and mud are flowing across streets in the Los Angeles area, and some schools are closed for today due to dangerous road conditions.

While holding back tears, the School District Director makes an announcement on live TV.  Someone whispers behind local residents, "she lost her house and one relative two days ago." The news camera cuts to an aerial view of an once-lush neighborhood now charred by wildfires, and then to a long shot of a street corner.

skeletal houses

the fruit of a charred citrus tree

clings to its branches

smoldering ruins

an etched mural stands alone

at the temple

Contemporary Haibun Online, 21:2, 2025

The Ree/al World

before leaving

you cry, our life's a mistake ...

yet in dreams my train

runs in circle after circle

and each station is you

"It's inevitable. One might break someone's heart on the way to opening one's own." Now I recall your remark after the curtain glided up and screen light poured forth as music swelled ... The Fault in Our Stars.

"It's always worth it, isn't? Love never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay," I mumble to myself in the moonlit dark.

Contemporary Haibun Online, 21:2, 2025

Relationship is not about continuing

"It's about re-inventing," I reassure myself. Always being at the brink of making something new.

I shaved my head

when her hair started falling out

and we weren't scared ...

five years later, our life bears

the weight of a question mark

I'm sleepless again as the moonlight slants through a gap in the bedroom curtains. And in her sleep, she seems to murmur something about a stable life.

It aches when I close my eyes and let myself glimpse, just for a moment, that there is an alternative life in reality, not just inside my mind: carefree and always on the move.

awake, alone

I look out the window

at early snowfall ...

what if this, what if that swirling

in a dark corner of my mind

Contemporary Haibun Online, 21:1, 2025

Re-Homing?

During his much-anticipated debut appearance on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, the Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, bantered with the host throughout most of the interview. Answering trivial questions Americans might have for Canadians, he got canned laughter and applause as he tried to set Canada apart from the U.S. His host prompted, "But I don't know everything I should know about Canada. Imagine I come from a country that think mostly about themselves. I hear really good things about Canada, then sell me."

The Prime Minister's response was typical at first. "Canada is the best country in the world, has beautiful mountains, rivers, lakes, ...Oh, and Canada has three coasts: east, west and the Arctic." Then he paused for a moment with his media-trained smile and continued to emphasize Canadian uniqueness. "The thing is, everyone focuses on the land, but really, Canada is about the people. It’s a range of people from every possible background who come together and -- a little different from the melting pot in the United States where everyone gets to be American -- we try to celebrate differences, and people keep their cultures and keep their languages."

I turn off the TV and go to bed, but I cannot sleep and stare through a hole in the attic roof at a dreamless sky. The Prime Minister's photogenic smile and lofty words keep hovering my mind, recalling his 2015 campaign slogan: "My friends, sunny way, sunny way! Real change is on the way."

stuck in traffic

as lines of protesters chant

"no more immigrants" ...

I wonder if beside my name

the hidden asterisk re-emerges

during lunch break

I drink another cup of coffee

dark and bitter ...

behind my back coworkers mimic

"you're flawed not a fraud"

streaks of crimson

swallowed by the night sky ...

the cries of snow geese

again rewilding

my immigrant heart

contemporary haibun online, 20:3, 2024

FYI: Chinese Mandarin speakers often have a tough time learning l's and r's later in life.

it’s peaceful now

M-16 rifles are blooming, 2000-pound bombs singing, and Merkava tanks sweeping the streets.

Gaza is cleaner than ever, clean of blood-covered children. Yet, somewhere among the rubble the only moving thing is a boy’s eyes that look up to Heaven.

a mural

on the separation wall

of the West Bank:

in midair a girl grasps

a bunch of rainbow balloons

contemporary haibun online, 20:2, 2024

Contemporary Haibun Anthology 20

The Cost of Writing

My friend, Chen-ou

I used to enjoy writing these Oliverian lines:

alone

linger for a while

out of a busy day

for the bluethroats

that have gathered among reeds

bordering the edges of the wetland

for a musical battle

to see who can sing the richest note

tacc, tacc and a hweet

Now, in order to hear the birds

the fighter jets and rolling fireballs

must be silent, be silent

I just want to be alive

on this fresh morning

in the world of broken hearts

fireballs drown out

my bloodied friend's question

what use is poetry?

I'm startled awake

this snowy New Year's morning

Drifting in and out of my daymare, he looks markedly thinner and paler. There is hunger in his eyes and ... in his heart.

Contemporary Haibun Online, 20:1, 2024

All of Yesterday in Me

year-end snowfall ...

these pieces

of my immigrant life

"Please empty me out. Let me be a receiving vessel," the voice in my mind becomes loud ...and louder.

first sunshine ...

the snowbanks of yesteryear

between neighbors

"If something comes from outside of me, then I'm not alone, am I?" I murmur to myself on this fresh morning in this fragmented world.

Contemporary Haibun Online, 20:1, 2024

A Chain Smoker of Few Words

My father, who was born in mainland China, quit his studies to defend his country against the Japanese invasion. Later, he fought his fellow countrymen for the sake of unifying war-torn China. Retreating to Taiwan along with the defeated Chinese Nationalist Army, he was separated from his family in China for four decades. He spent most of his adult life in Taiwan, worked hard to support his new family, died and was buried there without ever again seeing any of his family members from China.

this dream loop:

riding on my shoulders

into the Taiwan Strait

Father cries out, Mama

wait for me, I'm coming home

Contemporary Haibun Online, 19:3, 2023

Loud ... And Louder

The voice of fear cannot hold me back. All day and all night I'll never keep silent to the end of my life. Don't worry, Arezou. Here in this limitless realm of passion, sisters and I are like roaring waves in the Caspian Sea. We never keep quiet... interrupted in the middle of a smuggled audio message on YouTube.

chant after chant

of women, life, freedom ...

mixed with the sounds

of shouting, beating and screaming

from the dimly lit prison

Contemporary Haibun Online, 19:1, 2023

New Life in the Land of Maple Leaf

"Name, country of birth, place of birth, date of birth, sex, marital status, ...," the Immigration Officer fires out question after question, trying to define  the borders of my lifescape. He wants to confine me to a statistically recognizable category: immigrant. 

after one stopover

and twenty hours of flying 

in Toronto streets

I walk with newly ascribed roles:

immigrant and "Chinese"

in hazy moonlight

I gauge how much of myself

to allot

to this new-house and that once-home,

two places an ocean apart

Contemporary Haibun Online, 18:3, 2022

The Price of Speaking English

When my father's coworker drove him to the ER with back pain, the doctor sent him home with an adhesive heat patch. Weeks later, he felt as if his back was being stabbed with a dagger.

Armed with English, my borrowed tongue for ten years, I took my father back to the ER.  The doctor asked questions, ran tests, asked further questions, then returned days later with a diagnosis and a thorough explanation. My father was sent to the oncology ward.

Nothing was unusual about this. My stoic father and I have experienced similar situations after settling in this land of opportunity. There's a price to pay for everything. 

these first weeks

a mere blur to me . . .

slant of moonlight

on father's bed 

I sit in grief unspoken 

Contemporary Haibun Online, 18:2, 2022

New Life in the Land of the Maple Leaf

“Name, country of birth, place of birth, date of birth, sex, marital status,”  the Immigration Officer fires out question after question, trying to define the borders of my lifescape.  He wants to confine me to a statistically recognizable category: immigrant.

after one stopover

and twenty hours of flying 

in Toronto streets

I walk with newly ascribed roles:

immigrant and Chinese

contemporary haibun online, 18:3, 2022

In the same storm, and yet …

“The fortunes of Canada’s 59 billionaires have increased by $111 billion since March 2020,” an Oxfam International report finds. “That’s more,” says the female news anchor in an emphatic, high-pitched voice, “than the $109 billion the Canadian government spent on income support for workers.”

From the back of the noisy kitchen, the cook yells out, “Turn off that TV! It’s time to peel potatoes.” I go down to the basement to fetch three bags of spuds. Inching my way up the stairs, I fall under the penetrating gaze of a colleague from my former workplace.

a long lineup

at NewLife Soup Kitchen 

as rain turns to snow . . .

I'm glad we're masked

like familiar strangers

Contemporary Haibun Online , 18:1, April 2022

Stay Married

Under the dim light of the bedside lamp, I fix my eyes on a blank page of my diary.

He is his own man with few adjuncts: a MacBook, an iPhone, and a bulldog. Before the wedding, I was an entity in his life; afterwards, I've become an appendage to his social life. Not even this strip of the king-size bed where I lie feels like mine ...

The sound of my pen scratching on the page becomes loud ... and louder as rivulets of rain streak down the bedroom window with no sign of letting up.

anniversary

as quiet as a whisper

early leaf fall

Contemporary Haibun Online , 18:1, April 2022

Seeking Enlightenment

It is said that before studying Zen, one sees a mountain as a mountain, and a river as a river. After practicing Zen for several years, one comes to see that a mountain is not a mountain, and a river is not a river. Finally, when having a firm grip on Zen, yet still with the beginner’s mind, one once again sees a mountain as a mountain, and a river as a river.

heat mirage. . .

on the path to the Zen center

a pile of poop

Contemporary Haibun Online, 17:3, 2021

An Illegal Alien

A shadowy silhouette waves his finger at me, saying with a grim smile, “Give up your poet dream. I’ve been writing poetry since you were swimming in your daddy’s balls. Daydreamer!”

“My father never thought I could swim across the border between linguistic solitudes,” I murmur to myself . . . “He never believed I could emigrate from ideogram to alphabet.”

the scars

on body and mind

from my battles

against this inner noise ...

Pacific waves lapping blue 

 

Contemporary Haibun Online, 17:2, 2021

Editorial Advice

for Basho

rejection notice

a sunflower bending

to the wind

“You will notice that we veer away from authorial comment, abstract language, and most importantly, from the imposition of human qualities on the natural world. Instead, we choose haiku that achieve resonance through the juxtaposition of disparate images, credibly present in the same place at the same time.”

Sunlight slanting through the window on my coffee-stained desk. Reading Basho’s death poem, I can’t help but wonder: if he were alive today, would he be published at all?

rewriting haiku --

a scribble of swallows

over the moors

Contemporary Haibun Online, 17:1, April 2021